Grandma's Tree Climbing by Ruskin Bond
My grandmother was a genius. You’d like to know why?
Because she could climb trees. Spreading or high,
She’d be up their branches in a trice. And mind you,
When last the climbed a tree, she was sixty-two.
Ever since childhood, she had this gift
For being happier in a tree than in a lift;
And though, as years went by, she would be told
That climbing trees should stop when one grew old
And that growing old should be gone about gracefully,
She’d laugh and say, ‘Well, I’ll grow old disgracefully.
I can do it better.’ And we had to agree;
She hadn’t been up, at one time or another
(Having learned to climb from a loving brother
When she was six) but it was feared by all
That one day she’d have a terrible fall.
The outcome was different while we were in town
She climbed a tree and couldn’t come down!
We went to the rescue, and then
The doctor took Granny’s temperature and said,
‘I strongly recommended a quite week in bed.’
We sighed with relief and tucked her up well.
Poor granny! For her, it was like a season in hell.
Confined to her bedroom while every breeze
Whispered of summer and dancing leaves
Then sat up and said, ’I’ll lie here no longer!
And she called for my father and told him undaunted
That a house in a treetop was what she wanted.
My Dad knew his duties. He said, ’That’s all right
You’ll have what you want, dear, I’ll start work tonight.’
With my expert assistance, he soon finished the chore:
Made her a treehouse with windows and a door.
So Granny moved up, and now everyday
I climb to her room with glasses and tray.
She sits there in state and drinks grape juice with me,
Upholding her right to reside in a tree.